


Repossession

by aldiara



Category: Alles was zaehlt
Genre: Alles was zählt - Freeform, Breathplay, M/M, Missing Scene, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-02
Updated: 2010-10-02
Packaged: 2017-10-12 08:48:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/123075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aldiara/pseuds/aldiara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Deniz wants to do everything at once. (Coat room scene from episode 1001).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Repossession

"Shut up and kiss me already" is the understatement of the year.

Deniz wants to do everything at once, wants to feel Roman’s weight on top of him, wants to push him down and feel him writhe. He wants to fuck and be fucked, wants to suck and be sucked; part of him wants to sink to his knees and worship every inch of Roman’s skin with his tongue, whispering love words, wants to savour it, to make it perfect, even though there’s a warning murmur somewhere in the back of his head, a crooning sneer that perfection’s done him no favours. Another part wants to shove Roman down roughly and reclaim him with bite marks and clawed fingers and savage rutting until he’s utterly undone all other touches from his skin, fucked all other names out of his mind. Somewhere between the two, he dizzily knows, lies the truth of him, a hybrid of tenderness and ruthless possession; but his hands are frozen against Roman’s sides, unsure how to merge the two and translate them to touch.

Deliberately, he pushes indecision out of his mind and thrusts forward instead, backing Roman into the coat rack, which sways alarmingly. Roman makes a sound into his mouth, half amusement, half alarm, and redirects them until they hit a wall instead. His hands are framing Deniz’s face, fingers still slightly hesitant, _am I really allowed?_ and _is this okay?_ Something about the inquisitive touch drives Deniz into a mad frenzy of want, a surge of hot reassurance. He pushes forward more insistently, crowding Roman, squirming as close as he can get, chasing the taste of champagne into his mouth. For weeks he’s craved these kisses and despised himself for the craving, for being unable to forget the dance of Roman’s tongue entwined with his own: the way he licks and thrusts and sucks at his mouth, pushing inside, driving him crazy with wicked and generous promise. Now that he’s finally allowed himself to claim these lips again, to soak in the touch of Roman’s skin like a sponge, he’s like the proverbial starving man before the banquet.

Roman’s mouth trails from Deniz’s lips to his jaw, his fingers dropping to the buttons on Deniz’s shirt, and Deniz’s hands suddenly recover from their momentary inertia, remembering that there is skin to touch and offending clothes to shove out of the way. He tugs Roman’s shirt out of his trousers so forcefully that one of the buttons pops right off, bouncing off the floor and disappearing into some dusty corner. Roman’s skin is hot and smooth, chest heaving under Deniz’s touch. Deniz feels drunk before he’s even indulged – it’s almost like that first time, feeling frozen with indecision and liquid with desire, so hot he feels himself melt around all of Roman’s sharp angles.

Roman has somehow managed to unbutton Deniz’s shirt, but is having trouble with the tie; he mutters a curse under his breath as he tries to undo it.

"Who the hell tied this?" he growls, lower lip caught in his teeth as his fingers hook into the ungiving knot.

Deniz laughs breathlessly, his own hands roving across Roman’s exposed chest, his lips tracing Roman’s cheekbone.

"My dad," he says, remembering his father doing the knots for him and Flo this morning, fussing and adjusting until they sat right. He remembers how restricted he felt, as if the tie were securing the solid knot of permanent pain lodged in his throat. It feels like a very long time ago.

"Your dad," Roman says peevishly, biting his lip, "is too bloody thorough."

Deniz pokes his nose into his hair and breathes deep, inhaling the familiar smell. His fingers seek out Roman’s nipples, and he grins fiercely when there’s the telltale gasp of response. He tugs slightly, feeling them harden even more against his fingertips. Roman’s teeth graze his exposed collarbone. Encouraged by Roman’s sounds and the sudden thrust of his pelvis, he rolls the swollen nubs between his fingers and feels Roman strain towards him, thrumming as if he’s wired directly into his bloodstream. He doesn’t consciously recall when their belts were undone and their trousers unzipped – all he knows is that suddenly Roman’s left knee is up, his leg hooked around Deniz’s hip, and their pants pooling in a messy tangle about their ankles. He’s so hard it actually hurts, and dizzy with the sheer wanton pleasure of having Roman back in his arms, pinned neatly between him and the wall: Roman’s head thrown back, exposing his throat; Roman’s knee pulling him closer into the cradle of his hips; Roman’s hands, insistent and erratic on his recalcitrant tie.

A final vicious squeeze on Roman’s nipples elicits an actual cry, rough-voiced and needy, that has Deniz’s hand dropping down to cup the hard bulge inside Roman’s underpants. Roman’s cock is hot and damp through the cotton, twitching when Deniz tightens his hand around it, and reflexively Deniz shoves his hips forward, crazed for contact. Roman moans, a deep, keening sound that shoots straight to Deniz’s groin. Every instinct is screaming at him to flip Roman over, flatten him against the wall and fuck him until he comes apart at the seams. But they’re in a coat room, the timing’s impossible, it smells like perfume and mothballs; he doesn’t have condoms and there’s no time, anyway. Two corridors away, he can hear raised voices and high heels clacking on stone as the wedding party moves outside: they’ll expect them to be there, to see the bride and groom off on their honeymoon. This is nuts, it’s insane, any second someone could try the door handle and then pound on the door when they notice it’s locked, clamouring for their jackets, and Deniz couldn’t give less of a fuck. His perception of the universe has narrowed down to the urgent throbbing of his balls and the only reality he cares to acknowledge: the reality of Roman, hot and squirming within the circle of his arms, his hand slipping inside Deniz’s boxers and cupping his throbbing erection, thumb grazing the tip of his agonized cock. He growls, a fierce, alien noise deep in his throat, and gracelessly thrusts his right hand inside Roman’s underpants, fingers digging deep into the flesh of his buttocks as he hitches him closer, nearly lifting him off the ground.

His chest is bare, skin sliding silkily against Roman’s, delighting in the enflamed points of his nipples, but his throat is restricted still, Roman’s fingers tangled in the damnable knot of his tie. A hard yank, and Deniz sees stars, his breath momentarily cut off. He makes a keening noise and shoves his hips forward, his cock swelling even further than he thought was possible. Roman breathes half an apology against his lips and then stops, head jerking back. His eyes narrow in speculation, and he experimentally tugs at the tie wrapped round his hand. Deniz gasps as his air supply is cut even shorter. His lungs inform him, quite seriously, that this is madness and actually he does need to breathe; but his lower regions seem to exist quite apart from such caution. He feels his body melt and tense all at once, given over into the gentle but inexorable grip of Roman’s hand on the silky knot tightening on his throat. His hips buck forward as Roman’s left hand yanks down his boxers. Suddenly they’re lined up cock to cock; there’s the familiar silkiness of Roman’s hard length against his own; hot, soft skin sheathing the bulge of swollen flesh. Deniz slides his hand from the curve of Roman’s buttock to interlace with Roman’s fingers, clasped hands tightening on their hard lengths. He’s leaning forward heavily, unable to stand without Roman’s body propping him up, knee thrusting between Roman’s hard thighs.

Roman’s other hand moves again, deliberately this time, tugging gently but firmly on the throttling tie. Deniz closes his eyes as he melts forward, his body entirely trusting even as his brain informs him that he’s crazy, that he could die this way, darkness and stars flashing across the inside of his lids. He draws in air past the restriction in short, insufficient gasps; feels Roman’s hand tightening, thumb rubbing back and forth across the wet mess at the tip of Deniz’s cock, even as his other hand pulls slowly and mercilessly on his tie. His own fingers follow Roman’s lead, tightening their grip around their throbbing cocks, enough moisture oozing from the tips to let him slide his fingers around them in a warm slide of stickiness. Dimly, he’s aware of his hips moving, snapping back and forth in a frenzied rhythm. He feels like he’s never wanted so badly to have Roman underneath him on the floor, to spread him and mount him and ride him to the point of exhaustion, fucking him senseless. Knowing he can’t doesn’t alleviate the pressure at all – if anything, it fires him further, thrusting into the tight circle of Roman’s fingers. He’s close, so close, and he doesn’t even care how pathetic that makes him look, driven into frantic abandon by nothing more than a handjob in a dusty cloak room like some virgin teenager. It’s enough to swallow Roman’s harsh gasps of breath as their tongues mingle, enough to feel him pulsing within the tight clutch of Deniz’s fingers; to feel the hard points of his nipples rubbing against Deniz’s bare chest as he writhes against him.

He drops his head low, feeling the harsh pull of fabric on his throat and not caring, and closes his teeth on one of Roman’s nipples, drawing it into his mouth. A sound gushes past somewhere above his head, half growl and half moan, and he grins savagely, tightening his lips and sucking hard. Roman arches his back, and suddenly his knee hooked around Deniz’s hip is like a vice, holding him fast. Roman’s left hand flies up and down his cock, tight on the base and deliciously teasing at the tip the way he knows Deniz likes it, and his right hand tightens again on his tie, yanking so hard Deniz sees swirling colours as the breath is torn from his lungs. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t need air. All he needs is the curve of Roman’s lips against his, the way his mouth goes pliant and soft, letting him roam inside any way he likes. He doesn’t need air to thrust his tongue deep inside the way he wants to thrust his cock inside Roman’s arse; doesn’t need air to push up hard inside his hand, feeling his balls draw up tight and full. He doesn’t need air as long as he can have everything else he’s denied himself for so long: the wide, solid span of Roman’s shoulders, the heaving of his chest, the brush of his long lashes against Deniz’s cheeks when he rubs his face against his like an affectionate kitten; the familiar squash of nose to nose, tongues writhing and tangling until he’s not sure whose mouth they’re even in; the throb and pull of their cocks pulsing in time, drawing him towards the brink of release.

Roman makes a strangled noise against his lips as if he were the one whose neck is trapped in an effective noose of formal wear. “Deniz,” he gasps, two throaty, breathless syllables as his hand tightens, and Deniz is gone. It doesn’t take the harsh pull on that damnable tie to take all his breath away. He’s drawn forward as if on invisible strings, his hips bucking senselessly as his cock throbs and then spurts, jet upon jet of hot messy wetness over Roman’s hand, cock and belly. He feels Roman’s teeth sink into the crook of his neck only a second before Roman joins him, hips jerking frantically, and then he comes hard, his hooked leg sliding down as he spills in warm jets into Deniz’s clutching hand. His fingers fall away from Deniz’s tie, and as if it had only waited to be left alone, the knot loosens. Breath floods back into Deniz’s lungs so suddenly that he feels dizzied, overwhelmed by the oxygen rush. He drops his head forward onto Roman’s bare shoulder, registers harsh, gasping noises without knowing who’s uttering them. He can feel sweat soaking into his half-discarded shirt, the itch of his trousers puddle around his ankles, Roman’s cooling come sliding down his thigh. He’s exhausted and sticky and weak-kneed, uncomfortable as hell, and he can’t recall ever being this happy.

“Deniz,” Roman says again, a sound full of wonder against his bare skin. It’s half a breath of release, half benediction, and Deniz wishes he had anything to say in return, really he does, but he doubts if he can ever get his vocal chords to cooperate again. Their fingers are still laced limply against their cocks, covered in sticky mess, and he’s really not that thrilled about swallowing unless he’s five seconds away from coming himself, so he doesn’t know what compels him to draw up his hand and slowly lick their mingled essence off his fingers, tongue darting between his knuckles to make sure he can get it all.

Roman’s hair is mussed and his cheeks reddened; he looks like a schoolboy caught mid-wank, and when his eyes hungrily trace the movement of Deniz’s tongue, Deniz remembers that this isn’t for his benefit alone. He closes his lips around his forefinger in deliberate provocation to suck the come off it, and feels his groin stirring again when Roman’s mouth drops open, pink tongue swiping over his lips. Roman’s hand tightens on his bare buttock, his cock twitching wetly against Deniz’s groin. Deniz lets his hand drop from his mouth and bites his lip as a sudden rush of renewed lust takes him.

“Later,” he murmurs, his voice still caught slightly breathless, scratchy in his throat, yet rich with promise. Roman’s eyes are darkened with desire; they dart between Deniz’s eyes and his mouth, his lips parted enough for Deniz to see his wet tongue. The sight is nearly enough for Deniz to say to hell with it all and rip the clothes right off him, to straddle his face and shove his cock deep inside his mouth, feel his throat tighten about him and take his breath away in turn.

Roman’s lashes lift, his eyes fixing Deniz with an unnervingly frank stare. “Later,” he agrees huskily, and suddenly Deniz isn’t at all sure about this shoving Roman down and fucking him business; not when the mere sound of Roman’s voice, molten and smoky, makes him want to sprawl on the floor, spread his legs wide and beg to be taken himself.

One corner of Roman’s mouth hitches and the corners of his eyes crinkle in a familiar smile, as if he knows exactly what Deniz is thinking. His left hand darts up to smooth back Deniz’s hair, carefully gelled this morning and tousled beyond repair now.

“We should…” he murmurs hoarsely, and “…you’re a mess.”

He reaches sideways without ever taking his eyes off Deniz’s face, and grabs the nearest bit of fabric off the coat rack to swipe it between their bodies, wiping off the cooling trails of come. Deniz hooks slightly shaky fingers into his tie, amazed at how easily it comes off after all this. There’s no chance in hell that he’ll be able to retie the knot. He wraps it round his hand instead, so he won’t leave it behind, at least. Dropping his eyes to Roman’s clean-up ministrations, he laughs.

"That’s Ingo’s jacket."

Roman snorts. "He can fucking well deal."


End file.
